


Simplicity

by GotTea



Category: Waking the Dead (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-14
Updated: 2015-03-14
Packaged: 2018-03-17 21:20:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3544178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GotTea/pseuds/GotTea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's a sunny day, but Grace is sleepy and Boyd is bored.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Simplicity

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Joodiff](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Joodiff/gifts), [missduncan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/missduncan/gifts).



**Simplicity**

“The daisy's for simplicity and unaffected air.” Robert Burns

* * *

Sheep, decides Grace as she yawns sleepily. That’s what the cluster of small fluffy clouds hovering in the sky above look like. A flock of unshorn sheep, meandering lazily through the vast expanse of sapphire blue sky.

The slightest breeze tickles her skin, stirs the soft cotton of her loose, summery top – a welcome relief from the oppressive afternoon heat. Resting beside her on the blanket, Boyd is sprawled on his side, absently toying with a strand of her hair, a mischievous smile on his face.

“Stop it,” she scolds, making the most half-hearted of attempts to bat his hand away. He captures it in his own instead, bringing her fingers to his lips and kissing them delicately.

“Why?” he wants to know, his smile just as devilish as he turns her hand and drags his lips over the inside of her wrist, his teeth nibbling the soft skin there.

Grace shivers slightly, and tries to reclaim her hand. “Because I’m tired,” she grumbles. It’s all entirely good natured though. “Someone woke me at the crack of dawn, so we could drive all way out here for a picnic.”

He’s still got possession of her hand, his thumb tenderly stroking over her knuckles. “It’s a sunny day Grace,” is all he offers by way of an explanation.

“It is,” she agrees.

“You have to make the most of sunny days.”

She smiles softly, closes her eyes. “I am. Half an hour Peter, please. Just let me have half an hour.”

There’s a pause, followed by a very predictable, “And then what?”

Grace sighs, yawns again. She settles herself a little more comfortably, flexing her bare feet and enjoying the feel of the sun’s warmth sinking into her skin. It’s too nice to allow herself to get exasperated with him, but still… “Go for a walk. Look at that sea view you were so intent on finding. Find out if we can get down the cliff path to the beach. Do something, anything. But please, leave me in peace.”

“As if I’m going to leave you alone up here,” he mutters rebelliously, but she feels him kiss her fingers one more time and then gently lower her hand to the blanket before getting to his feet and moving away.

He won’t go far; she knows that with the certainty that she knows her own name. In fact, he probably won’t even leave her here alone. But he will let her have her snooze. Most likely for far longer than the requested half an hour, if she needs it. Which she’s fairly certain she does. Recovery is a long process, despite the now not-quite-so-recent all-clear they are still celebrating and delighting in.

Health and happiness, finally. It’s a wonderful thing that they are thoroughly enjoying together.

With her eyes closed she can hear the waves rolling gently up the beach below, smell the salt in the air. There are far off seagulls cawing at each other, and the rustle of the breeze running across the grassy hilltop, bringing with it the teasing scent of summer wildflowers and the chatter of smaller birds. Beneath her the blanket is rich, soft wool and when she lets her hand venture off the side her fingertips trail through the soft prickle of individual blades of grass. Breathing deeply and allowing everything else to simply fall away, she lets the mixture of scents flood her senses, take over her brain. It lulls her into the warm caress of a myriad of bright, cheerfully vivid daydreams that eventually slip effortlessly into the visions and imaginings of real slumber.

* * *

She comes back to herself slowly, the delicious comfort of a much needed, luxurious nap still wrapped around her, cocooning her. Reality is distorted, the world still just a little bit too far away to reach out to, to connect with. Stretching slowly she feels the whole body ache of inactive muscles and the wonderfully welcome sensation of the fibers flexing and loosening in response to her movement.

She can hear Boyd humming softly, feel him sitting nearby. Opening her eyes she discovers the sun has shifted considerably; her fuzzy sheep are long gone. Late afternoon has drifted into early evening, and instead of cloud formations and pictures in the sky, there is the golden light of an approaching sunset.

He is sitting beside her, fiddling with something she cannot see. She lies still, watching him as he concentrates so intently, wonders what it is his thoughts are lost amongst. Observing the way the light wraps around him, highlighting the angles of his face and showing off darker shades still lingering in his hair, she sighs softly, entirely relaxed and content.

His voice is barely more than a whisper, mixing gently with the breeze. “I can feel you staring at me Grace!”

“Mmm,” she agrees, too warm and lazy to say anything else. She looks up, studies the sky; searches for the name of the exact shade of deep, untouched blue stretching out above her.

He abandons or finishes whatever it is he is doing, lying down beside her and propping himself on one elbow as he watches her.

“Now who’s staring, hmm?” she teases.

“Me,” he nods, entirely unconcerned as his gaze wanders slowly over her, taking in every tiny detail. “But I’m allowed to,” he adds with a grin, before asking, “are you feeling better now?” His tone is still light, but it carries a more serious note that reveals just a hint of his usually well-hidden concern.

She doesn’t bother hiding – there are no secrets between them anymore. “Much,” she admits. “Thank you. Have we got any water left?”

He shifts to check the backpack. “Plenty.” He offers a hand, pulls her into a sitting position and passes over the bottle. Untwisting the top, Grace sips greedily; the heat of the day and the considerable length of her nap have left her desperately thirsty.

The water is cool, a welcome relief on the back of her throat that clears away the final cobwebs of sleep. Closing her eyes she swallows more, her free hand dropping to her lap. She feels his fingers brush over her arm and the tickle of something unfamiliar against her skin. Curious, she secures the cap back in place and looks down, discovers a row of tiny yellow suns ringed by delicate white leaves and stung together by their slender green stems.

She is both charmed and astonished as she stares at her wrist and the decorative addition now affixed there. “You made me a daisy chain?”

“I did,” he agrees, idly picking an errant blade of grass from her skirt and rolling it between his fingers.

She watches the dexterity of those fingers, imagines them carefully splitting stems and threading them together. A delicate, fiddly job – not something she would ever have associated with him. “Why?”

He shrugs, trying to casually brush the matter off. “Because you were asleep, and I was bored.”

“Oh.” She doesn’t believe him, not for a moment. She can see in his eyes there is something else on his mind. She doesn’t press him though; it wouldn’t do any good. Instead she simply admires her bracelet. He’ll get there in his own time.

She’s right; he does.

“No. That’s not true,” he says at last, pausing to gaze at her, his expression suddenly deeply thoughtful. She can see him casting about for the words he wants, the message he’s struggling to express to her. “Daisies… when they grow in lawns, people tend to think of them as a weed. They try and get rid of them, but they always come back. And considering they’re such tiny flowers, they’re so strong, and resilient. Determined to grow. I think they’re beautiful… and they remind me of you. That’s why.”

She’s momentarily at a loss for words. “That’s… that’s very…”

“Don’t say it,” he warns, holding up a hand in defence. “Whatever it is, I don’t want to hear it. Just take it as it is, ok?”

Grace smirks, shakes her head at him. “Fine!” 

“Good,” he mutters, thoroughly relieved.

Her lips twitch in amusement, and she can’t resist needling him just a little more. “Although…” 

Boyd sighs heavily, his exasperation only too audible as he intones a resigned, “What?”

She glances at him out of the corner of her eye. “Are you comparing me to a weed?”

“Why do I bother?” he groans, throwing his hands in the air for entirely theatrical effect.

“No idea,” she promptly counters, lying back on the rug and examining her daisies again, running her finger over the soft edge of petals.

“Me either,” he sighs, looking down at her and slowly shaking his head. “Come on lazy bones – you’ve had your snooze. Let’s go walk along the beach. Do something sappily romantic like watch the sun set over the sea.”

She raises an eyebrow, sliding her feet back into her sandals before getting slowly to her feet. “Are you feeling alright? First this,” she indicates her wrist, “and now the sunset?”

“Funny!”

“I’m serious,” she grins, though she is anything but as they fold the blanket between them. “I think you might have had a little too much sunshine.”

His eyes are laughing as he nods, picks up the backpack. “I might have Grace, I just might have.” He reaches for her, takes her hand. Pulls her against him for a slow, tender kiss.

“Come on,” he says, tugging her along with him as he takes the first step in the direction of the cliff edge. “That sunset won’t wait for us.”

 


End file.
